


The Daily Male

by idioticfangirl



Category: politicians - Fandom
Genre: I had to say he was hot and I need bleach, I regret everything, In all honesty David Cameron has more personality in this fic than in real life, M/M, My friend made me I swear, please don't read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6750184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idioticfangirl/pseuds/idioticfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to get him over Michelle, Biden gives Obama the number to a friend of his, and they hit it off right away.  However, who will he choose when he also falls for the delivery guy?</p><p>Otherwise known as my friend made me and this is terrible and I don't ship it please don't judge me</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Daily Male

"So, how's life?" Joe, lounging in his seat in the Starbucks that he and Barack had agreed to meet in. Barack, for his part, wondered how Joe could be so comfortable when he had his chair facing backwards so that he could straddle it and lean his head on the back, which was gaining many weird looks from the other shoppers.

"Life is," Obama shrugged, "life."

"How've you been since Michelle?" Was he stupid enough not to pick up on social queues, or was he rude enough not to care about the way Barack winced and visibly braced himself for the tirade to come. "Because that was a train wreck, man, you were heartbroken."

"Still am," he tried to head it off before it began.

"She was so hot, I can't believe you lost her! Hey, do you reckon she'd do me now?"

Barack choked on his boiling hot coffee, spluttering for air as the small portion of his brain that wasn't preoccupied with survival pondered the best way to kill his so-called 'friend'.

"Say, are you still gay?" 

"Sorry, Joe, but if you're into me I gotta say you're not my type. You've got more chance with Michelle than me, and that's saying something."

"No, no," Joe laughed, although it sounded somewhat forced, "I've got this friend, and he's painfully single too, so I thought I could kill two birds with one stone."

"Painfully....you know what, never mind. I'm not going along with another set-up, Joe, the last guy was an idiot! He'd have to be, I guess, to be friends with you."

"You're friends with me," Joe pointed out, as though that was a winning point, but Obama gave a long-suffering sigh.

"And what does that say about me?"

What really spoke about him, however, was the fact that he gave in to Biden's pleas to at least try the guy out without much resistance, knowing after many years that it would be easier. He accepted the number given to him graciously, but didn't go so far as to save Joe from falling over when he fist-pumped so hard his chair toppled, choosing instead to sit opposite him, laugh, and finish both drinks whilst Joe was groaning on the floor.

 

The first text he received from David, Joe's mysterious single friend, was; "so ur the poor sod Joe roped in2 this 2"

For fucks sake, he though, text talk.

To David: "Am I poor because it's you or because I'm being set up?"

From David: "bc it means ur friends w/ him"

To David: "I've regretted it since the first day. In my defence, he somewhat forced me into it."

From David: "not judging you m8 he forced me 2"  
From David: "practically kidnapping"

To David: "Finally someone who agrees with me!"

From David: "if nothing else we can bond over mutual contempt of him"

To David: "I look forward to it."

 

To Obama's surprise, he found himself enjoying conversations with David far more than he had thought he would, to the point where when he next saw Joe, a few weeks later, he actually thanked him for his idea, terrible though it still was, because if nothing else this might be the most intelligent friend he'd ever had, and he had hardly thought about Michelle the whole time.

"And he's hot too, right?" Joe winked, and Barack frowned.

"I haven't actually met him, so..."

"What? Why not? You're missing out, and its been aaaages!"

"It just never came up, I guess."

"Trust me, you're gonna be glad I told you to." It wasn't worth arguing, so Barack agreed and left soon after.

 

As he arrived at his house, he saw a man standing outside, keeping a bicycle upright with one hand and balancing two parcels on the other.

"Can I help you?" Barack called, trying to remember if he had ordered anything recently, but his train of thought was halted abruptly as the man turned around. He seemed about the same age as Obama, bright blue eyes twinkling in what Barack hoped was appreciation as he looked him up and down. His light brown hair was swept away from his face, only serving to allow Barack more of the beautiful view, and his jawline was to die for.

"Number 36 ordered a parcel?" The man offered them to him, and Obama nearly took them until he remembered.

"I'm number 37."

"They aren't in, so if you can just sign here," thrown off by the man's beauty, Obama didn't even think before he was signing it. As he handed the pen back, the man winked at him, leaving Obama staring slack-jawed after him as he rode off, although at least his butt was nearly as brilliant a thing to stare at as his face.

Shaken as he was, it took Barack twenty minutes to remember to message David.

To David: "Hey, so,"

From David: "yh?"

To David: "We've been messaging for a while now, and it's just occurred to me that I still don't know what you look like."

From David: "oh"  
From David: "yh"

To David: "So, I guess what I'm asking is, do you want to meet up?"

From David: "busy rn, mayb l8r. gtg bye"

Strange, Obama thought as he stared at the hurried text, but thought nothing more of it.

 

Over the next few weeks, he found himself messaging David a lot less. At first, it had been David's fault, sporadic messages that were mainly apologies over the fact that he was busy all that he was sending these days, but Barack knew the feeling of falling out of love, or whatever it had been, too well. To make up for it, in a spiteful way that he wasn't used to, he found himself ordering more things online than ever before. It had started off with one t-shirt that he was drawn to, but when the same beautiful man dropped it off at his door and, once more, winked at him, the shopping spree began.

He would purposefully arrange his orders a few days apart to maximise the amount of times they had to be dropped off, and over time, even engaged in conversation with this man, who's name he still didn't know but he was inexplicably intrigued by.

And while this happened, he wasn't texting David as much either. Whenever he did he felt uncomfortably guilty, unable to do it without imagining the hot delivery guy on the other end.

 

From David: "sorry i haven't texted u much"  
From David: "tbh i have sumthing 2 tell u"  
From David: "i know we rnt d8ing or nything"  
From David: "but i still feel bad."  
From David: "i think i like somebody else"

Obama could only stare at his screen. At first, he felt horror, but as he reread the message it blossomed from the reaction he was conditioned into to relief, and he smiled as he typed out his reply.

To David: "Honestly I think I feel the same."  
To David: "But we can still be friends, right?"  
To David: "I still like you, just...not like that."

From David: "sure"  
From David: "thnks 4 understanding"

Even though it was long overdue, the conversation still felt too much like a break-up for Obama to feel completely happy, and in a sort of remembrance of what could have been he didn't order anything for a while. It wasn't long, however, before he couldn't stop himself.

"Haven't seen you in a while," his delivery man said the moment he opened the door, "I was afraid you were cheating on me with another service!"

"Never," Obama laughed, any lingering sadness over David melting away. "Just," he shrugged, "had a sort of break-up, that's all."

"Oh yeah?" the man peered at him, "Me too. You know the best way to get over it?" Already assuming the best, Obama shrugged coyly, "A date."

It was arranged that they would go out to lunch the next day.

 

"So," Barack asked the second they met up, "I feel like I should know your name by now."

"David. And you? Or shall I call you Mr Obama?"

"That makes me sound like the president. I'm Barack. Righ - wait, did you say David?"

David was staring back at him, mouth agape in an impression of what Barack assumed he looked like at that moment. "Did you say Barack?"

As one, they whipped out their phones, quickly thumbing out a message and...their phones beeped. Obama burst into hysterical laughter, lamenting the time he could have had with David that he had spent wasting money online and feeling guilty, while David stared at his phone as though afraid it would bite him.

"That makes things easier," he said, when he could speak again. "Ready for lunch?"

"Told you you'd get on!" Joe called, from where he'd been spying on them in a bush. Obama was too happy to do anything more than flip him off.


End file.
